


Pretty in Lace

by cucumber_of_doom



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Anal Sex, Awkward Boners, Butt Plugs, Dom/sub Undertones, Lingerie, M/M, Oral Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-05
Updated: 2016-02-05
Packaged: 2018-05-18 08:51:46
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,196
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5918062
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cucumber_of_doom/pseuds/cucumber_of_doom
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jim wears pretty, pink, lacy knickers and Sebastian discovers a new kink.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Pretty in Lace

Sebastian lets out a contented sigh as he steps out of the shower, steam still rising from the open cabin behind him. No matter how good or bad he has adjusted to civilian-life: he will never tire of the sheer luxury of never running out of hot water mid-shower. Or hot showers in general. Long showers. He loves showers.

He takes one of the fluffy grey towels from the heated rack on the wall, drying himself methodically before stepping in front of the sink. He is tired, despite having slept longer than usual, but he and Jim had fallen back asleep after a welcome round of lazy morning-sex a few hours earlier. It is too late for his morning run now, but waking up to Jim sucking hickeys onto his inner tights is always worth the change of routine.

After quickly shaving and brushing his teeth, Sebastian throws his damp towel into the hamper. Jim had fallen back into bed after taking his shower first, clearly unmotivated to get on with his day, shooing his lover into the bathroom to get ready. They have to be at a meeting in about an hour and will need to hurry. Even the Napoleon of Crime can't reach the location in less than 45 minutes, not with London traffic as it is. Making Jim keep appointments is a thankless but necessary task.

Naked as he is and yawning, Sebastian pads back into the bedroom. The moment his feet hit the plush carpet, he catches sight of Jim and stops.

Jim, hair already combed back, sits on the edge of the mattress, wearing nothing but an as yet unbuttoned white dress-shirt and a pair of soft pink, lacy knickers. Not that Sebastian had ever consciously fantasized about Jim in lingerie, but now that he sees the finished product he can't deny the appeal. There is something strangely beautiful about so much potential violence wrapped up all prettily. Sebastian swallows. The pink lace strains over the curve of Jim's cock; half transparent and completely indecent.

“Hello, tiger,” Jim all but purrs and Sebastian flinches, having no idea how long he stood and stared like an idiot. “Do you like it?”

Sebastian's goes lightheaded as the blood rushes from his head to his cock. His quickly growing erection is all the answer Jim needs. The little bastard chuckles.

“Hm. I thought you might like it,” Jim says with a grin, then rolls over onto his stomach, ass up. Sebastian almost chokes, his eyes following the thin strip of lace between Jim's buttocks, where is barely covers the flat base of a shiny stainless steel plug, adorned by a glittery jewel the same shade of pink as the knickers.

Jim wiggles his ass, then reaches back with his left hand tracing the outline of the plug. He peeks over his shoulder, devious smile firmly in place.

“I plugged myself up, tiger. Still got your come inside of me, it feels so warm and nice, you wouldn't believe how nice that feels,” he breathes, eyes on Sebastian. “I want to think of how well you fuck me when that moron drones on about his oh so brilliant business ideas.”

Jim hates most of their business associates but Sebastian agrees that the man they are supposed to meet today is especially dull. He is greedy, like most people, and desperate for the kind of underworld-prestige consulting with Moriarty brings him.

Sebastian still hasn't moved from where he had stopped in the doorway, pupils blown wide with arousal. They went for it only a few hours prior and he is ready to go again. But never, ever, without Jim's explicit permission.

“Fuck, Jim. Do you have any idea what you do to me?” he asks, voice raspy, his white-knuckled right hand grasping the door frame. It is a game they have played before: Jim taking his time while Sebastian tries his best to stay still. Patient. It is the sweetest torture, watching Jim and not yet being allowed to touch.

“I might have an idea, darling,” Jim says and rolls over again, sitting up, then bends forward to pull on his socks. First one, then the other. No rush. Sebastian waits. 

Jim makes a show of slowly buttoning up his shirt from the bottom up, tongue poking out between his lips for the barest moment. Only when he is satisfied does he stand up to cross the room, feet silent on the soft carpet. Sebastian stares ans Jim, beautiful in pink lace and fine white linen, drinks in the hungry gaze fixed on him. Jim always liked attention and Sebastian happily gives him whatever he desires.

Directly in front of him Jim stops, close enough to feel the warmth radiating from his body. Sebastian's hands twitch, but stay where they are. He is rock-hard.

Jim, satisfied with his audience' reaction, rises to his toes and pecks a freshly shaved cheek. 

“Do you want have a feel?” he breathes, then grips Sebastian's wrist and guides his hand to lay on his ass. Sebastian's breath hitches as his fingers make contact with hot, delicious skin.

“Dammit, Jim...”

Jim shushes him. No talking, then. He can do that.

Sebastian carefully traces he border between skin and fabric, a shiver running down his spine the moment he finds the hard, unyielding plug, already warmed by Jim's body heat. He must have slipped it in the moment he left the room to take his shower, teasing the toy in first thing. And Sebastian had somehow missed it, still too sleepy when Jim fell back into bed, smelling of warmth and his obnoxious shower-gel. The smell still lingers on his skin, now faint and mixed with his brand of aftershave and hair-gel. All those layers upon layers of disguise Jim puts on before venturing into the outside world.

And just like that Jim slips out of his reach.

“Hands off, Tiger, we have places to be, remember?” he teases before getting dressed for good.

Sebastian lets out a low whine as he watches the see-through material disappear beneath professional charcoal slacks. They tie goes on next, delicate fingers slipping fine silk around his throat. Sebastian stares, mesmerized. 

“You can either get dressed or take care of that boner, but there is not enough time for booth. Make your choice, but you are going to accompany me anyway. So choose wisely,” Jim all but purrs while tying his shiny, black oxforters. “Now, Sebastian.”

Sebastian bites his lower lip and takes in a shuddering breath through his nose, then nods. He doesn't need to look as polished as Jim. As far as everyone else is concerned, he is nothing but hired muscle with a very keen eye and steady hands, there to keep Moriarty safe.

He stiffly moves to the dresser, pulls on a pair of clean jeans and a simple button up, nothing that will hinder his movement if it should come to a fight. He doesn't bother with underwear and regrets this decision the second his stiff cock comes in contact with rough denim. Too late now. Jim's gaze doesn't move from him, hot and heavy and merciless. He will have to live with the discomfort.

Sebastian hops inelegantly on one foot to pull on his socks, then follows Jim out of the bedroom as quickly as he can. He takes his gun, of course.

In the hallway he stuffs his feet into his well worn combat boots and shrugs into the leather jacket hanging from the coat rack while Jim gives himself a last, critical once-over in the mirror.

The car meets them outside, black and expensive but hardly conspicuous in a city like London. There are thousands like it. Sebastian sits down next to Jim on the back-seat, occasionally shifting in discomfort. Jim doesn't look up from his phone until they stop in front of an anonymous building somewhere south of the Thames. Sometime during the rise Sebastian's erection has gone down, a fact he is incredible grateful for. He does not need anyone to thing listening to business-talk gets him going.

They meet their client in an empty office with no ties to the name Moriarty or any of his better known aliases. The ever changing office spaces are part of the myth of a man with all the connections. Moriarty has no need for an office, he is reached through other means and picks his customers himself. 

The left-over furniture is sparse and has been cleaned only hours prior to the meeting. Only the smell of cod and dampness lingers persistently. Jim settles behind the massive oak desk with a single, more or less comfortable chair in front of it. Sebastian's place is to his left and a step back, casually leaning against the wall. He can't help but stare at Jim's ass, knowing what is hidden beneath the fine wool of his trousers. He swallows, mouth suddenly dry. Jim gives him an impish look over his shoulder, licking his lips. Shit.

Their client arrives, two thugs at his back and sits down in the free chair, not giving Sebastian a second glance. A fact Sebastian is way too happy about, with his dick already half-hard again when he remembers the way the plug had felt against the tips of his fingers less than an hour ago. He is doomed. Or at least his dignity is.

He hardly listens to the negotiations, something he usually would not dare, but Jim is being especially distracting today. Sebastian tries to calm down by calculating angles for possible shots. It doesn't help. By the time one of the client's thugs stares at his crotch and the conversation has turned to the possibility of killing the client's ex-wife, he is still sporting a semi. Sebastian can tell Jim is enjoying himself and actively prolonging negotiations for the sole purpose of torturing him. Little bastard.

Sebastian keeps his face impassive, showing no sign that he is aware of how tight his jeans have grown. It's none of their business anyway and starting rumours about him getting off on murder aren't going to damage his reputation. Maybe it will give people another reason to not piss him off. No one wants to be shot by the man with the inappropriate boner.

After what feels like hours, but is in reality not more than 30 minutes, the client stands, shakes Jim's hand and leaves, his thugs in tow. When one of them looks back, Sebastian gives him a sardonic smirk. Like hell is he going to be embarrassed. At least not visibly.

After the door falls shut, Jim waits a minute, then scoots back the chair, rolls squeaking in protest after being unused for who knows how long. He leans back, lazily spreading his legs, his eyes roaming up and down Sebastian's body.

“Have you listened to anything that was said or where you to occupied with the little problem between your legs, darling?” he drawls. Sebastian watches him loosening his tie, sprawled over the chair like a big, feral cat. He can tell by the look on his face Jim wants to play. Sebastian is more than ready.

“'Little'? Now you are just being mean, boss.”

Jim undoes his belt. Sebastian clenches and unclenches his right hand.

“I always am, haven't you heard?” Jim says, opening his fly. There is a flash of soft pink where the darker fabric parts. “But I think right this moment, we want the very same thing. You are lucky, Sebastian.”

He stands, pushes down the slacks and steps out of the dark wool pooling at his ankles and kicks it to the side. He looks up, teeth flashing and points to the floor in front of him.

“On your knees, boy.”

Sebastian falls to his knees with a thud, pain shooting up his legs. He doesn't care. Pain is fleeting and the only thing of importance is right in front of him. Jim shrugs out of his jacket and unbuttons his shirt without hurry, dropping them on top of the trousers. All he is left in is the pair of tiny, ornate knickers, straining over his hardening cock. Sebastian licks his lips.

“Please, Jim,” he begs, mouth dry, eyes on Jim's face. 

“Please what?”

“Please, may I suck your cock?”

Jim leans his hip against the desk, thinking.

“Not yet, but soon, Tiger. I think you haven't yet appreciated those knickers as much as you should. Come closer,” he says, crooking his index finger mockingly. Sebastian shuffles closer on his knees until he is close enough to smell Jim's arousal. There is a wet spot forming where Jim's cock tents the see-through material. He leans forward, resting his hands on each side of Jim's hips, lace and skin a shocking contrast beneath his palms. He sticks out his tongue just a bit, enough to touch the tip against the damp spot and breathes out. Jim makes a pleased noise and cards his left hand through Sebastian's short hair, settling on the back of his neck.

Sebastian Moran is not a religious man, but he worships Jim Moriarty with every fibre of his being.

The lace feels surprisingly coarse against his lips, snagging against an errant patch of stubble when he nuzzles Jim's crotch. The scent of Jim's arousal never fails to draw him in. Its primal, this need to be close to him, filling his senses with nothing but Jim.

The salty tang of precome clings to the back of his throat as he mouthes at the knickers, dampening them further in the process. His own erection presses painfully against the zipper of his jeans but he ignores it for the moment. What is more important is the way Jim's breathing picks up and how Sebastian's lips ghosting over his covered cock makes goose-flesh rise on his tights. There is no doubt Jim is enjoying this just as much as he does.

The grip on the back of his neck tightens and Sebastian takes this as his cue to carefully take the fabric at the waistband between his teeth and pull the knickers down. Jim's cock springs free after Sebastian takes his hands to help push them down, lace straining beneath Jim's buttocks. He gives his cock a tentative lick before closing his lips over the tip, suckling gently.

Jim has not the biggest cock, nor is he especially thick, but Sebastian couldn't be happier with it. He likes the way it fits into his mouth, the weight on his tongue. He also loves being fucked by it but to him there is nothing as intimate as worshipping him with his mouth, lips stretched, tongue curling, fighting down his gag-reflex when his nose buries in Jim's pubic hair. So he does.

Jim curses, hand fisting in his hair, pushing down his head, keeping him in place until Sebastian's eyes water, then pulling him off. Sebastian coughs, eyes stinging, throat burning, lips spit-slick, looking up at Jim. 

The flush travels down all the way his pale chest. Jim looks at him, pupils blown wide, then hobs onto the desk, the clonk of the base of the plug hitting the old wood making him dizzy. Jim pushes the knickers down his legs, lace sliding against skin and finally down onto the floor.

“I want you to fuck me, Tiger. Fuck me good,” Jim commands and Sebastian is all to happy to obey. He scrambles up from his knees, fumbling with the button on his jeans. He curses when the zipper gets stuck, Jim laughing in the background. He somehow manages to wiggle the jeans past his hips and kick it off, almost loosing his balance.

“You need some help there, Tiger?” Jim teases from his perch on the desk, leaning backward until he is sprawled out, spread legs dangling off the edge. Sebastian steps between them, grabbing Jim by the ankles and pulling him closer. He reaches between his legs, fingers searching for the plug, the decorative jewel smooth and body-warm. It's been sitting there for the whole of the meeting, a dirty little secret between the two of them. He pulls it out and sets it next to Jim onto the table, surprised by the weight of it.

He stuffs two fingers into Jim's hole without trouble, still slick from earlier and kept open by the plug.

“Come on, give me the real thing!” Jim urges, moving against the fingers inside, hungry and desperate. He loves their little games as much as Sebastian does, the power he wields over him. Sebastian pulls out his finger, lines up his cock and pushes. It feels divine, slick and tight and _hot_. Jim wraps his legs around him, pulling him in closer and Sebastian curses again. 

He is bracing himself with one hand on each side of Jim's head, needing the purchase because his knees are like jelly. Numb from kneeling on the cold, hard floor and weak from seeing Jim spread out in some desolate place like this. And that's just Jim summed up, isn't it? Delicate lace and a rough fuck in an abandoned office. The devil wrapped in bespoke suits. Talking murder with Sebastian's cum up his arse.

He groans, burying his face in the crook of Jim's neck, biting down as his rhythm speeds up. Jim claws at his back, moaning. Sebastian reaches down for his leaking cock trapped between their bodies. It only takes a few additional twists of his wrist to make Jim come apart, himself following seconds later. His legs finally give out and he slumps down heavily onto Jim, sweaty and out of breath.

“You're heavy,” Jim complains after a minute and Sebastian rolls off him with a huff when Jim pinches his side. He is sticky all over. Most of it sweat, except for where Jim's come is smeared onto his shirt on his belly. The same is the case with Jim who somehow managed to keep his hair neat through all of this, even if his face is flushed and more relaxed than anytime else.

Jim sits up and pulls a face.

“Eww. Give me your shirt,” he demands and Sebastian, too happy and sated to argue, pulls it over his head and hands it over immediately. Jim scrunches his nose at the sweaty garment but takes it anyway to wipe the cooling come from his skin and tosses it back, Sebastian letting out a sigh. Of course. He contemplates putting it back on but decides against it. Instead he zips up his leather jacket all the way. He won't freeze to death in the car with the shirt missing but he is going to run around topless.

When he turns back, the plug is nowhere to be seen and Jim zips up his fly. He raises an eyebrow.

“Really, Jim?” he asks. Jim huffs, buttoning up his shirt and shrugging back into his jacket.

“What? I don't want to leak all over the upholstery in the car?”

“Whatever makes you happy. You keeping the knickers too? Because I kinda like the way they look on you.”

Jim narrows his eyes, then shrugs.

“We will see. Now get in the car.”

“Yessir.”

**Author's Note:**

> If you want to see me rambling about writing and a lot of random blogging, visit my [tumblr](http://cucumber-of-doom.tumblr.com/) because that's where the cool kids are.


End file.
